Effortless
by Lady Merlin
Summary: In which Jim decides to back off, because even though he loves Spock to bits, it'll take a while for Spock to get there. For now, he's happy with his life, and his effortless friendship with Spock. Rated for bad words. Implied K/S Slash!


I just realised something. I've been trying so hard to get a deep passionate, fiery romance for Jim and Spock, but the truth is, I'm a nuTrek gal. I haven't seen many of the TOS episodes (though I've tried) and I don't really know much about the dynamics of _Spock-and-Jim_, apart from what I've read between the lines in the new movie, and what my brain has very helpfully supplied. From nowhere, I should add.

But either way, I've come to the decision that even if I'm a steady K/S Shipper and will never, ever, EVER like Uhura with Spock (No WAY!) or think it's wonderful that Jim's a man-whore (a hot one, but…), I will stick to friendship for now. I hope to write a sort of calm, accepting type of friendship. One which you have but never notice, that you've never even tried to build. Something effortless…

No doubt my efforts will come out less than perfect, but I'll get there, and hopefully with constructive criticism, I will be able to venture into the slash world, where I shall worship Jim-and-Spock. (drifts into thoughts…)

Oh yeah! I own NOTHING, else I'd be doing unspeakable things with Jim and Spock, 'cuz I _owned_ them! Boo-Yah! And the friendship begins!

.~*~.

Jim was a generally impatient sorta guy, and he was honest about it. When things had cooled down enough, after the Batshit-Crazy-Loon-Blows-Up-A-Planet-Incident (he had to rename it later, after several incidents of similar nature) for his Libido to start up again (yeah, with a capital 'L'), he expected some. Like, seriously. He expected some, really good, and really _fast_. 'Cuz of the whole impatient thing.

And he knew whom he expected it from.

The whole mind-screwing thing on Delta-Vega wasn't as cool as it looked. It was, as its bestowed title suggested, screwed up, really bad. It was weird when the old-Spock put his fingers on Jim's head. Weird, but not outstandingly weird; he'd had people randomly touch much more private parts. The _really_ weird started _after_ that, when he began feeling this tingling sensation through his spine, then through all his extremities. It wasn't bad, really. Just odd. He felt like he'd been flayed open for the world to see, and it didn't hurt.

The only way to describe it was that the old-Spock was _inside_ him. It was invasive in the worst way possible, and it was inescapable. He hated every second of it, until the old-Spock started talking. He'd been aflame, flesh drowned in lemon juice, every moment of pain in his life, throwing itself at old-Spock, begging to be seen or heard; begging to be shared. Jim had never hated himself more than at that moment, never hated himself than when he needed someone so bad, it was killing him; literally.

He could feel his heart pounding, roaring away at top speed. Then old-Spock spoke (alliteration not intended). It was like sliding into sheaths of silk; like dipping into a cool pool; like bathing in yoghurt. All the terror of the entire 'adventure' came, adrenaline fueled and all, and vanished under that soothing voice.

He wasn't exactly listening, and he wasn't even sure if the old-Spock was speaking, but something was going on, and he was getting memories or information, or something. His mind wandered, and suddenly he found himself in a dark tunnel passage thing. It was a classic hybrid-tunnel (he felt(?) amusement at his thought(?)) from a million horror movies, come to life. Made of cold metal, echo-y and shiny, and at regular intervals were doors.

Meanwhile he somehow came across the impression that the old-Spock had had an enemy on Vulcan, and he was regretting that he'd punched the little snot all those years back. It then occurred to him that this meld (or whatever it was called) worked both ways. It was only fair, right? If this guy could read his memories and stuff, he could read his.

The moment he made this decision, the doors slammed open and whirling out came little fluttery things, sparkly and multi-coloured, and he _knew_ they were memories. One slipped past him, a feather light brush on the mental image of himself.

Complete _happiness_. Utter, all-consuming, mindless bliss. At what? At friendship? Success? Maybe both.

Then: Devastation at a death; someone close to Spock(him?)

He began to lose the distinction between old-Spock and himself, Jim. Things that he was pretty sure he had never experienced began flashing through his mind.

Tangled, sweaty limbs; a long, lean figure which he couldn't help but notice on the bridge; secret glances; even more secret liaisons; breathless gasps, dying to feel smooth, hotter-than-human skin; pleasure so intense it was almost painful; the exotic taste of _something_, he couldn't place; the feeling of a smile into a kiss (Whose smile? Whose mouth?); the feeling of being _One_.

Yeah, he was _pretty_ sure he'd never experienced this. He'd have remembered. But the strangest thing was that so far, his thoughts and old-Spock's thoughts had a _distinct_ difference, some different flavor. He couldn't describe it, hadn't bothered to. But these memories. These memories of incredible pleasure, of making _love_ rather than having sex; they were his. Yeah, a bit tweaked and warped, but essentially his. They felt like his mind. It didn't make sense.

And it was so breath-taking he didn't care.

And all too soon, it was gone. It's so hard to describe or to explain. He'd never known that he was empty, or lacking, or that there was anything wrong with him. He'd never noticed. He'd heard people say stuff about their partners completing them and stuff, and had dismissed it as bullshit. But when old-Spock left his mind, he felt—there was no other word for it—incomplete. It felt like old-Spock had occupied a space in his mind that was made for him, backing Jim's every insecurity, and when he was gone that particular wall collapsed.

He fell to his knees, overwhelmed by—by—by _something_. He felt _broken_. He wanted to break into tears, to cry, to scream, to rip his hair out. His life was worth less because it had been worth so much more with old-Spock in his mind. There was a gaping empty pit in his stomach, and he was free falling, and he just _knew_ he was going to splatter into a bloody mess at the bottom of wherever he'd jumped from. And there was _longing_. An aching, hollow longing that echoed so deep, he was _begging_ to be held, to feel something other than—and suddenly warm fingers burning through his suit.

Deep breaths… Deep, icy breaths.

He gasped into real life, opening his eyes to the blinding light in the…dim cave. Okay that was weird. _But what about this trip _hadn't_ been weird?_

Old-Spock was sitting there, looking as shaken as Jim, with a perfectly composed face. _Vulcans_, Jim had thought, exasperatedly. But they were okay. And now he needed to figure out what the hell had just happened. But old-Spock didn't say, and Jim couldn't shake the idea that he shouldn't ask. For whatever reason. But that was the worst and best part of the Batshit-Crazy-Loon-Blows-Up-A-Planet-Incident; the part which he simultaneously tried to forget, and couldn't help but memorize.

But he'd expected a similar reaction from Spock. Seriously. He had expected open arms to his advances or something, because frankly he couldn't imagine going trough life when his best sex hadn't actually happened and was a memory from some old guy (who got better nookie than he did!) from the future. With a future version of him, he presumed. Because it would be _un_bearably freaky if he'd seen memories of old-Spock-when-he-was-young having sex with _another_ man. He would have been tempted to gouge out his brains with a sharp stick.

But his Spock was still as repressed as ever when the whole Batshit-Crazy-Loon-Blows-Up-A-Planet-Incident was over. Like, crazy repressed. And there was no bigger turn-off than being rejected, like, oh, a _zillion_ times. He tried to take comfort in the fact that Spock was no longer with Uhura, but it was a pretty sad life when his only source of joy was someone else's sorrow.

And after a zillion rejections, and then some, he gave up. Truth be told, he was getting tired of it, and he found he couldn't even have sex with anyone else while he was fixating over Spock. When he didn't greet Spock in the morning with some subtle euphemism or pick-up line (he had an awesome whole stock-pile now), Spock raised an eyebrow.

And it wasn't all weird for too long. They had to work together too much for it to be a problem. At least, that's what Jim told himself in the bathroom, much to Bones' amusement.

And they settled into a routine and agonized minutes turned into painful days and then just okay months, and eventually a happy year.

Jim wasn't an idiot. He was impatient, and he was reckless, and he undervalued himself, and he still hadn't told anyone about all those things which were dying to be told, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew that the mindfuck screwed with him.

He knew that those particular feelings shouldn't magically have popped outta nowhere (which means they were transferred from old-Spock's mind), but he also knew that he was essentially Jim, and Spock was essentially Spock, and the love which he'd felt in the meld was love which was possible between them in whichever universe fate decided to fling them into.

So he figured that he'd keep his pants on for a while, and he'd get that incredible, _awesome_ nookie at some point in his life. And more than the sex (not that he'd EVER admit aloud, to ANYONE) he'd get a lifelong partner, and a friend, and a lover.

Him'n'Spock, they're on their way there (wherever the heck 'there' is). Spock is already indispensible. In more ways that one. He provides subtle, manly emotional support which Bones _really_ can't handle, and he's always being a total stubborn jerk, in a very calm, Vulcan sorta way, keeping Jim tied to the ground. He thinks that people who don't have their own versions of Spock turn out like Admiral Komack, and that he does _not_ want.

And now they're kinda friends. Kinda, sorta. And he'd never dare to tell that to Spock, because he's just a bit worried that Spock'll fly off his damn rocker and strangle him again, which is _not, _dammit, kinky. That's another thing he tells himself in the bathroom, and that time Bones ran from the room, screaming. People barely paused in the hallways; they're used to this crazy shit now.

They have a creepy-vampire-genius First officer, an off-his-damn-rocker CMO, a sexy, badass Communications Officer, a Scottish whiskey-wielding Engineering Head who needed a damn translator of his own, a sword wielding ninja Lieutenant Pilot and a prodigy who was barely out of his diapers on the Bridge. And not to mention him; their womanizing jerk of a Captain, who loved the ship with all of his tattered soul.

And him and Spock? Yeah. They worked well together, and dammit, he wasn't a thirteen year old girl, but it sounded good together.

Already they were being passed into the annals of history, the best command pair in history; the most number of successful missions under their collective belts (which was _yet_ another dangerous thought for Jim) in the shortest time.

He was happy. Happier than he'd ever been in his life. Far happier than when he'd launched that car off a cliff, fully intending to die that day. Far happier than his months on Tarsus IV, which had ripped from him the last vestiges of his childhood. Far happier than when he'd been living with his step father, who was _not_ a very nice guy. This was the best time in his life. He was doing what he wanted to; something he loved with his whole heart. He was surrounded by friends, cuz yeah, they were friends. Sulu and Chekov and Uhura and Bones and Scotty and that weird guy who inhabited the recesses of the Engine Room, where Jim went to relieve stress by fixing stuff.

And Spock? Spock was his kinda-friend, kinda-something-more. And it would come in time, effortlessly. He knew it would. And no, that was _not_ a deliberate euphemism. For now, he was happy with what he got.

Yeah, yeah, I realised that I've wandered like hell, but I started with the intention of showing how Jim's content and how things are working out okay, and how their relationship is (because they can't slingshot into passion, like _that_) and I believe, that even if it's not what I intended, I've got what I wanted. I'm happy. So let me know what you think about it, and remember, ever comment will help me take that first step into love! (and now I feel like saying, 'VOTE FOR ME!!!')

Forgive the array of bad words I've put in, somehow it felt bad to censor Jim's thoughts.

Love,

Lady Merlin


End file.
